


Beneath the Night

by Grasshopper_of_Anarchy



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Banter, Confused Obi-Wan Kenobi, Fluff, I Tried, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Planet Tatooine (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grasshopper_of_Anarchy/pseuds/Grasshopper_of_Anarchy
Summary: A few miles apart on Tatooine, both master and apprentice are lying awake.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20
Collections: QuiObi Secret Valentines 2021





	Beneath the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firondoiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firondoiel/gifts).



> This is my first time writing for this pair (although I’ve read it quite a bit) so I hope it’s up to snuff! It’s not exactly what you asked for, but I think that it hits similar notes. Hopefully, anyway. I didn’t really write the story so much as channel it. Enjoy!

Some nights Obi-Wan opens himself to the mysteries of the universe, sitting in a silent and dark corner of the temple, the tranquil and empty gardens, or even his own bed. Some nights he keeps watch, ensuring that no one sneaks into their hideout and slits their throats. Some nights he spends chasing down contacts or combing the streets, all in the name of the mission. And some nights he sleeps, curled around his flat pillow underneath a thin temple blanket.

Tonight, he sits on a bunk thousands of light years away from Coruscant. The ship has alarms and guards. He doesn’t need to keep watch. But Obi-Wan cannot sleep. A single conversation is caught in his mind, like hair in a drain. A single interaction among hundreds, but one he can’t move past. The Force is distant, refusing to open its arms and allow him refuge.

_If only I hadn’t kissed him_. That’s where things went wrong. The moment replays again, about three days before this latest mission. Sparring. How many times has he sparred with Qui-Gon over the years? How many times has he ended up pinned without doing something rash and stupid? What made this incident so special, so different? Was it the way his hair had tickled Obi-Wan’s neck? Was it the hands on his shoulders, trapping him against the wall? The way his master’s lips had looked, so close and-

_Not helping_. He heaves a frustrated sigh, pushing himself to his feet. The comm lying on the small ledge beside his bed calls to him. The formality, the tension that no one else can feel- it has to end. And if they’re going to finish this mission, they’re going to have to work together. They need to talk.

“Is something wrong?” Qui-Gon picks up before the second ring. Perhaps he was awake, too. Obi-Wan pauses in his pacing of the room, a small supply closet. Empty and the last place he’ll be interrupted. They need to talk, but he doesn’t want to. Not now, not miles away on a dusty hellhole in the middle of nowhere. But there’s not much of a choice.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, stalling, “I just... did I wake you?” Silence. Then,

“Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan sighs, stopping himself from tugging on his braid out of nerves. He thought that habit had been left behind a long time ago, but apparently the past is determined to haunt him tonight.

“I know.” It’s now or never. “We need to talk, master. Now.” He leans his forehead against cool metal paneling.

“The mission comes first, Padawan. We can speak later, once-”

“You know this can’t wait,” Obi-Wan interjects. “Ten minutes. Please. It’s compromising the mission to have this all hanging in the air.” A sigh, long over the comm. 

“This is a conversation I had planned to have in person.” He closes his eyes. _So he has been thinking about_ \- 

“Come here, then. Or I can find you. It won’t take that long.” 

“You can’t leave the queen, and I can’t leave the handmaid.” A grin creeps over his face, a sudden and unexpected one. This is the most they’ve spoken in days. Maybe things can be normal, after all. Maybe he can make them normal.

“Now you’re just stalling.” That statement is followed by a pregnant pause.

“Wait for me by the ship.” The call ends, Qui-Gon dropping out of the channel. Obi-Wan lets out a long sigh, affixing the comm to his belt. This is it. They’re finally going to talk. This is what he wanted. 

Then why does it make him so nervous?

The stars are closer out here, a million grains of rice scattered in clumpy formations across the night sky. A mournful howl echoes across the sands, wind stirring up the tiny particles and tugging at his robes. It’s beautiful; the air chill and the boulder he leans against warm. It smells faintly of dirt and dried herbs, the smell of the desert. 

Obi-Wan climbs atop the reddish rock, staring out across the desert. His eyes shut as he sinks into a familiar cross-legged position. He waits. Quite a while, actually. The wind runs soft fingers over his face and through his hair. Tiny scrabbling creatures stir in the dust, going about their business in the dark. The land is so dead and yet so alive, a web of the sleeping and the lively singing the unique song of life.

This is what it means. To hear the whispers, to protect the singers. His problems with Qui-Gon, his apprehension, his petty feelings; they mean nothing in the infinity of the Force. So, even though he feels a fleeting pang of loss at the thought, he will have to tell his master so. It was a mistake; life will go on and they will act as if it never happened. All for the best, all for the singers. 

“I’m half convinced you could meditate in the center of a battlefield.” Obi-Wan jumps, clarity fleeing, and turns to face his master. Qui-Gon stands at the edge of the rock, observing him with an even blue stare. How long has he been standing there?

“I’ll have to try that some time.” The smile this earns him; why have they been acting so strange to each other? Why haven’t they set aside their problems for this? It’s a relief to be joking again, to tease and smile. Obi-Wan would trade all the stolen kisses in the world for a grin from his master. But then the smile fades, moulding itself into a picture of Jedi serenity. He sighs, sliding down from the rock and leaning against it. _Might as well get to the point._ “I kissed you in the sparring hall.” The blue eyes blink calmly.

“You did.” Is it going to be Obi-Wan’s job to drive the conversation? But then Qui-Gon continues, “And I let you kiss me.” Obi-Wan frowns, folding one arm across his body.

“Is there a difference?” Damn this man and his infernal sabacc-face. Obi-Wan sighs frustratedly. “I thought we didn’t have time for a long, cryptic conversation about the nuances of the situation. Aren’t you supposed to be giving me some sort of lecture? Aren’t I supposed to apologize?”

“‘Supposed to’ is the key phrase there, Padawan.” Before Obi-Wan can interject, he goes on. “You initiating the kiss does not mean I wasn’t thinking along the same lines.” What? He was... thinking along the same lines...

Oh.

Qui-Gon was thinking... about kissing him. When he pinned him against that wall. Obi-Wan blinks, trying to compute. It’s not possible, his master wouldn’t _have_ thoughts like that, it’s Obi-Wan who’s the weird one-

“I can’t tell if you look more terrified or confused.” Okay. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Calm. Like a Jedi should be. _Jedi_ , an errant thought tells him, _don’t think about their masters while under the covers_. He shoves that one away, too. And not only because his face must be verging on strawberry-impression territory,

“I can’t either.” He laughs. “I was all ready to tell you sorry and never speak of this again.” Qui-Gon blinks.

“Is that what you want, Obi-Wan?” Oh. He’s screwed it up again. Okay. So Qui-Gon reciprocates his feelings, but he’s just told him he doesn’t want-

“No! I mean that’s what- The code-” Deep breaths. He forces himself to look his master in the eye once more. “I know what is right.” The man is so damn calm, arms folded and robes neat. The stars shine beyond his head, stars and planets and trillions of singers he can’t hear but must exist. He must do it for them. Attachments are forbidden, and Qui-Gon is a damn fine Jedi. If they were to be discovered, he would be sent away. It’s for the greater good.

“What is right, then?” Qui-Gon steps forward, closer to Obi-Wan. “The rules of the order? The Jedi code? The ones that say you must search your feelings, and then tells you not to act?” There’s maybe twelve inches separating them now. It would be so easy to reach out, so easy to change their world again. Something heavy fills this moment, and it’s not just tension or embarrassment or Qui-Gon’s exasperation. It’s something unnameable and electric, and it stretches between the two of them. “If you don’t want me, say the word. We don’t have to speak of this ever again. But if the only thing stopping you is the code...”

Fingers, brushing lightly over his cheek. A little tingle rushes through him, excitement and energy. Obi-Wan leans into the touch, then stops himself. His mind is at war. They can’t. But if they did... _Stop_ , he tells himself, _think_. Ignore the circumstances and listen to yourself. One of the first lessons you learn as a Jedi, and one that has kept him alive.

What does he want?

It’s a terrifying question, one he doesn’t feel ready to approach. But he closes his eyes and searches the tangled web of his emotions. He cares for his master. Deeply, even without all of this. It’s too complicated. Everything is way too complicated.

“I think...” he says slowly, “that we should try it out. Otherwise I’ll have to meditate again and that would take too long.” Qui-Gon laughs, and he does too, and it snaps the undercurrent of tensions. He’s still smiling with stupid relief when there are steady hands on either side of his face. His master is closer, much closer.

“Are you sure?” And it’s that question that knocks him out of the rut, and he nods, feeling the rough hands move with him. And his master’s face is moving closer, and he can feel breath on his face and then their lips are touching, and it’s strange but it also works.

Apparently there’s a lot more to kissing that just pressing your lips together and calling it a day. Or maybe there isn’t and he just doesn’t realize it because everything feels kind of floaty. He forgets to breathe, and his heart starts pounding on his rib cage like it wants out. The breathing resumes quite suddenly when he remembers that he has nostrils to breathe through, and then Qui-Gon’s mouth opens, and he’s not sure what’s going on anymore.

They break apart, and Qui-Gon is smiling and then he laughs, and Obi-Wan does another strawberry impression. 

“Yeah,” he says, not knowing what he’s saying yes to. Qui-Gon pulls him into a hug, and he hugs back, startled. It’s a long time just standing there, saying nothing, but it’s also over too soon. Finally, his master presses a light kiss to his forehead.

“We have a mission, Obi-Wan.” He sighs, taking a step backward.

“I know.” Now everything is too heavy, and he wants it to not be. _Maybe_ , he reflects, _it can’t be both ways_.

“I must know,” his master says suddenly, “am I a better kisser than a certain Mandalorian duchess?” And maybe it can.

“What- I-” Obi-Wan glares at him as his master laughs again. “That was one time, master!” 

“And you’ve only kissed me one time.” 

“We had both dranken an _excessive_ amount of tihaar!”

“Some have told me that my presence is intoxicating.” 

“I’d ask, but I can guarantee you all of them were far better kissers than I am.” Something changes in Qui-Gon’s face, and he ends the back and forth with,

“Yes, but they aren’t you.” Qui-Gon sighs. “I’ll see you soon, Padawan.” And with a final smile and another, much quicker but still breathtaking kiss, his master departs. Obi-Wan leans against the rock, closing his eyes. That was not where he saw their evening going. Emotions still roll around inside of him, like buttons in a very red box.

The stars shine bright above him. The rock is still warm, though rapidly cooling. Shoving to his feet, he makes towards the ship. He’s still not sure where they’re heading, but he knows that wherever they end up, they’ll be there together. 

**Author's Note:**

> First/Second kisses are usually not nearly as perfect as described. Viewer discretion is advised.


End file.
